


Watch, as I smile

by inu (inuverse)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry, Fingerfucking, M/M, Post-War, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 04:02:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5613262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inuverse/pseuds/inu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's always the same. Every bloody weekend. He's everywhere I go. After the war I thought I'd gotten rid of him, eventually, but I was wrong. (Drarry)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watch, as I smile

It's always the same. Every bloody weekend. He's everywhere I go. After the war I thought I'd gotten rid of him, eventually, but I was wrong.

Is it Saturday evening? Saturday night? I don't know what time it is. The club is upmarket, the music deafening. Hard electro beats. Blinding lights. The dance floor is overcrowded. As soon as the bouncers recognized me, they waved us through. Sometimes it's an advantage being a war-hero. If only to save some time and money, although I've got lots of both, due to the fact that I'm retired. The saviour of the wizarding world is my past. My story's over. Once I wanted to become an auror, but I gave up on that dream long ago. To be honest, it was the fantasy of a child-believing in having a future. I've seen far too much, served my purpose, end of story. Now I just want to be left alone or paint the town red. There's nothing in between. Not for me. Not anymore.

Ginny's dragging me right through the crowd. She turns around to me, says something, smiling. Her lips are moving, but I can't hear what she's saying. It's much too loud in here. I don't care anyway. I'm hopped up. Kinda. We're passing a mirrored wall. I look at myself and sometimes I can't quite believe this is really me. My reflection has nothing in common with the boy I was anymore. Nevertheless, those green eyes, staring back at me, are mine. I still do look bloody young, although the war has been over for two years now. I don't wear glasses anymore. Since the out-of-bed-style has been voguish, I'm able to leave the house looking pretty acceptable, without wasting tons of hair gel on the bird's nest on my head. The white designer shirt, shining brightly in the strobe light, is skin-tight and stands out from my darker skin tone. My shoulders are broader now. The rest still is quite slender. Doing my kind of drugs definitely doesn't get you fat. Rather the opposite. I couldn't give a shit. Hermione does, though. She always nags: 

_Take better care of your health, Harry! Don't whore around, Harry! Wouldn't it be such a shame surviving Voldemort and the war just to die of drugs or some nasty STD, Harry?_

I don't give a fuck. I saved the world. I can do whatever I want to do now. But she's bitching anyway. How does Hermione usually phrases it? 

_Come down and go on living, Harry!_

As if I could.

Before we reach our table, where Ginny's latest score and the usual suspects await us, I know he's here. I feel his gaze, long way before I'm actually able to get a look at him. It's always been like that. Even back in Hogwarts. Now I indeed see him. Though his face gives nothing away, I know he has seen me, too. I'm convinced he hadn't changed a single bit or maybe I just didn't notice, because he's always been around. All the time. For bloody two years now. As if he was my shadow or I was his. He's still taller than me with these unbelievably cold silver-grey eyes of his. His face is pointed. His blond hair is like liquid platinum. Chin length. He's dressed all in black. Not looking ill at all with his skin being so pale. I ask myself if he's using glamour. He drinks Martini as usual. The way his shirt fits his lean torso, it must consist of the finest silk. A green tie is around his neck. _Very slytherin_. This will never change about him either. I can't see his hands though I know they are slim and he's wearing a heavy signet ring. I just know. His curved lips show flawless teeth. And it always seems to me, as if he's about to say:

Watch, as I smile!

The usual empty phrases welcome us as we sit down at the table next to a new face. Marcus? Steve? I don't have a clue and I couldn't care less, what the bloke, swapping spit with Ginny now, calls himself. My foot already twitches nervously to the beat of the music and so does my left eyelid. The back of my hand wipes shakily over my mouth and my nose with the result, that Hermione darts a worried look at me which I choose to ignore as I always do. I laugh, make some jokes. Ron is telling us about working at his brother's shop. Hermione is mentioning some anecdotes of the law office she spends her semester break temping at. I consider telling them how it feels to do nothing at all, sleeping the day away at Grimmauld Place day in, day out except the weekends, just existing for these few nights, the parties and...

A silver-grey glance from soulless eyes sinks deeply into me, erasing every thought. He accompanies a brunette to the dance floor, not looking at her at all. I hold his gaze as he holds mine. The same sound waves, that seize his body already, are piercing right through me. A sea of music and light. I'm on my feet, sensing a grip to my wrist like a wisp of wind I can easily cast off. I hear my name in the stream of sounds that carries me further away. I'm already drowning, sinking deeper and deeper now. Finally my mind is filled up with sweet nothingness, beautiful oblivion, drowning out the death cries in my head to silence them at last. No faces of the dead, no feelings anymore. There's only the sound of music and cold silver.

Watch, as I smile… I think and show my teeth.

Time doesn't matter anymore. The music carries me on and on, captures me. Forever or just a short glimpse of time? I don't know. I feel nothing and everything at once. I'm dazed and wide awake, all alone but part of something bigger. I don't know and don't care if the others are still here. Nothing else matters now, but the sound and him. He's still looking at me. Our bodies move in unison. The same base drums making our hearts beat as one. The same rhythm's enervating our muscles.

But I feel morning approaching to soon break us apart as the stroke of the clock at midnight breaks the fairy good mother's spell on Cinderella. It's the dawn I'm dying in, each and every time.

A blonde girl's swaying her hips in front of me. She's as stoned as I am. Everybody is stoned and still lingering in this place, clutching desperately at the last remains of the night like creatures of darkness fearing the light of day. She's pressing herself against me. A face without a name. My hands touch that body of hers, she so eagerly wants to merge with mine, but I'm already merged in silver-grey. Across the whole distance, across the dancefloor. I'm feeling the cold of his gaze more than the heat of her pelvis, rubbing through the layers of my jeans and boxers right against my cock. He's looking at me, his tongue leaving a wet trace from the base of his brunette companion's neck to her earlobe. One of his slender hands holds tight on her hair, whilst the other one is deep down under her skirt. I know he's finger-fucking her. I see it in his eyes.

Watch, as I smile!

I feel the blonde girl's hand diving into my pants, gripping my cock, her tongue in my mouth. The dying starts right now. I look past the nameless girl in front of me and wish it was his hand, his tongue, but I only have his gaze. A cold icy stare making my blood boil in cold fire. It's the beginning of the end. My execution. It's always the same. Every single morn. He looks at me and I know he knows. The brunette twists and turns in pleasure. He always shows me exactly what he does. Her eyes are closed, his lips touch her skin, his fingers get her off and he looks at me knowingly all the time, challenging me as he always does.

Watch!

I know precisely how this game is going to end. Sardonically, the corners of his mouth are twitching upwards. Full of mockery.

Watch, as I smile!

I burn up in desire, because I want him. I burn up in shame, because he knows. The dying takes its curse to the great finale. The brunette whispers in his ear and I already know what's going to happen next: It'll end. She takes his hand, pulling him towards the dawning morn and no doubt he's going to follow her, as he usually does on every morning that breaks us apart. Breaking me.

I'm closing my eyes, so I don't have to see it. I always stop looking at him, before he stops looking at me. I wouldn't be able to take it the other way around. I surrender and embrace the emptiness inside of me. I give myself to the blonde girl and her touch. I'm going to fall into her body – any body - the dawn, the end of night, my execution, as I always do.

Suddenly, a hand closes around mine; tightly and firmly, before I fall, pulling me away. Something tries to hold me back in place at the same time. I turn around to face it. Through half-closed eyelids I see that nameless girl behind a swirling veil. Everything is in slow motion, distorted. One beat of the base drum seems to last for minutes, only to hit my nerve endings in high speed again. I look the other way. Right through the flashlights of sound and beat and the artificial fog I see blackness. Blackness I have to follow. Shaking off the girl, I step forward, moving further away, as if I was in a state of trance. Simply following. The music fades. I feel like wading through a stiff mass. Not being able to breath. Only the tug at my hand makes me proceed. It's so dark, I don't know if my eyes are closed or opened. I don't know if I'm awake or dreaming, living or have ceased to exist already. Swallowed up by dawn. I'm pulled away from the music and the fog. Further away. Are these stairs? I'm following the blackness...

... into the light.

A stream of air caresses my face. Oxygen is biting into my lungs. I tear open my eyes, not knowing till now, that they had been closed at all. A red ball of fire burns my pupils, bathes me in blood-red light. A blood-red morning blinds me. I can't see anything but the rising sun. I stagger, but someone holds me upright.

I don't know where I am and who prevents me from falling down on my knees to be melted away by the morning sun like a snowman in spring. There's only the sky above and a sea of rooftops beneath me. A few motors drone in the distance, the familiar snoring of a sleeping city. The music still echoes in my ears as a soft humming.

The figure holding me upright is only a silhouette against the blood red sky, an outline, flat like a piece of paper, bodiless like a shadow. I hear the soft clicking of a lighter; see a flame, a silver-grey blaze, only for a millisecond. Smoke is fuming.

"You're gonna snuff it, if you continue like that, Potter. Do you really want to die?"

I hadn't heard that voice for an eternity, making every hair on my body rise.

"Since when do you care?" The words slowly pass my lips somewhat inertly. My tongue feels heavy like a foreign object inside of my mouth and as slow and lethargic as the flow of thoughts inside of my head.

He laughs joylessly and says nothing more. I hear him inhaling smoke and exhaling it again.

"You don't get it," he finally says and he's right. I'm not getting it at all. I can't think. My brain is like chewing gum in the morning sun, forming bubbles without substance.

"There was a time when I wanted nothing more than to destroy you like you destroyed me, but in the end it was hatred keeping me alive and the instant you stopped hating me I ceased to exist."

I hear his words clearly, but I don't comprehend. I try to detect something inside that black outline. Only when the cigarette flickers, I'm able to catch sight of a short flash of silver. Nothing more. I don't understand, whilst everything else around me is turning red and yellow. Blood and gold.

He turns away, takes a step forward. He looks at the city below us or the blood-golden snitch-like ball in the sky. I can't tell for sure. Now I see his profile. Pale and pointed. His voice is rough as he whispers and it reminds me of soft rustling of feathers.

"I'm living, but I've got no soul." His words drift away from me with the smoke from his nostrils and mouth. "I captivate you, but am of no relevance for you at all. Each night, you allow me to look into your eyes and it makes me forget that I don't really matter to you. And every time you close your eyes in the dawn, I die only to be resurrected by your gaze as your soulless shadow again the other night."

It sounds like poetry. I wonder, if this is really happening or if I'm fantasizing. It feels like he's spilling out, what has been properly sealed in my own head. These words are mine! The wind presses the black silk to his frame, plays with his hair. He blinks, because the red and yellow wheel in the sky grows even bigger above us, enlightening the platform, where we are dwelling. In the middle of the sunrise. I step forward to pause at his side, take the cigarette out of the corner of his mouth. I inhale a mouthful of smoke, not knowing what to think. I can't think, don't think.

"Maybe I shouldn't stop looking at you then," I muse.

He tilts his head in my direction. His silver-grey stare is piercing deep into my pupils, into my skull. It almost hurts. He takes his gaze away again, closes his eyes. His face seems to glow warm and golden bathed in sunlight. He's smiling. And I watch, as he smiles.

"Maybe," he replies.

 

oOoOo

 

Voices. Muffled. In front of my bedroom. I know these voices. Slowly, I open my eyes. The bright sunlight, shining through the window into my room, is blinding. It must be late afternoon already. Voices again. My body feels as if I had played Quidditch for hours. Exhausted but completely relaxed, I realize in surprise. Calm. I've never felt so calm and full of energy since... I can't even remember.

The memories of the night and the morning are blurred. The room, the blanket everything smells of alcohol, sweat, aftershave and... Wait- that after shave is definitely not mine... I sense the scent of sex and... Pieces of the past events are shooting through my mind, shooting right through me like electroshocks until I remember. Everything. My stomach cramps. My mouth gets dry. Regardless how often I swallow. Voices.

Voices!

I jump out of bed. For a second the room is spinning and my circulatory recommends not booting the system so bloody fast, but I can't take that into account now, because I've recognised these voices. I put a blanket over me to cover myself at least a bit and open up the door. It feels like my head hits a wall of hubbub. I have no time to take care of the sudden streak of pain at my temples, because the voices have fallen silent at once. Raised brows in a pale face combined with a bored look from silver-grey eyes welcome me. So it did happen indeed! My mouth is so dry, that I can't speak.

I don't really notice Ginny, Hermione, Ron and the extra, whose name I wasn't interested in yesterday, standing in the hallway. I'm mesmerized and solely look at him and it's as I told him. I don't stop watching him. I can't and I don't want to all the same.

Leaning casually against the doorframe of the open bathroom Draco wears nothing but a towel to his hips. I didn't know I had green towels at all, that one must have belonged to Regulus once, comes an absolutely superfluous thought in my mind. Water drips down from Draco's hair that's been flattened to his skull, as it had been back then in Hogwarts, except for a single strand being too heavy with water and due to that fact, dangling in front of his eyes. I notice fine runlets trickling down his curse-scarred chest, miniature-beads of water on his eyelashes, the black snake and skull tattooed in his flesh never to wash away no matter what.

Only when I hear Ron's voice, I tear my eyes away from Draco.

"What is he doing here?"

I'm looking into baffled faces, partly angry, partly bewildered, and partly questioning. That look on Ginny's face might even pass as horror.

I reply, but it's not Ron I'm replying to and it's definitely not Ron I'm looking at, when I start to speak.

"He saved my life."

'He' starts to smile and scratches the back of his head making more strands of his hair fall in his face this way. Thick water drops shower down onto the carpet like idle rain.

"That's what they are calling it nowadays," he smirks, paying no further attention to our audience.

"That really was about time," Hermione sighs with relief. Ron mumbles something incomprehensible making Hermione hiss at him: "By Merlin, Ron, what do you think they were doing... bloody naked in Harry's bedroom?!"

Ron's face is growing pink. Ginny's, too, but I'm watching Draco and nothing else, what might prevent me from developing some severe illness of the eyes, because pink and red don't go very well together namely when it comes to blushing Weasleys.

"Do you want to shower before I'm going to save your life again or afterwards, Potter? You know, just to be on the safe side."

The smile on Draco's face is sly and his eyes sparkle in amusement. Instead of his usual soulless and icy stare Draco's gaze is full of life now. He doesn't wait for my answer and starts strolling towards me, speaking his thoughts out loud.

"I guess one time before showering and then again afterwards will do. We shouldn't take any risks here and it won't do any harm saving the saviour several times, don't you think?"

I'm out of words and nearly blinded by the sunlight on his pale skin the same time. I just watch the movement of his lips, his trim body. He could be saying whatever he likes now and I couldn't care less as long as he continues walking towards me and my bedroom with that look on his face.

Maybe my story isn't over yet. Maybe only the story of the saviour of the wizarding world had come to an end and Harry Potter's story is yet to begin? It could be quite possible, couldn't it? I stop thinking immediately, because Draco obviously doesn't intend on bringing the wet towel with him into my room. He just leaves it behind on the door sill with a sneaky grin. I delay thinking for later and keep watching, as he smiles; knowing I won't ever stop.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to BooksAreLikeChocolateButBetter (check out her amazing Hetalia-fics on fanfiction.net) for beta-reading!
> 
> I don't own Harry Potter and the Potter-verse (unfortunately) and I don't make money of Fanfiction. No copyright or trademark right infringement is intended by this fic.


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